So Simple
by linnybrown
Summary: September, 1914: Anna is unusually melancholy, Mr Bates is oddly comforting. Mrs Hughes speaks her mind. Mr Bates uses her words against her.


September, 1914

Nighttime had descended on a weary Downton. Supper had been served, consumed over very little talk, then cleared; the servants' supper likewise. Every door was propped open to encourage a breeze. A relentless heat, not realizing it was September, had stubbornly stayed well into the evening. In the servants' yard young men stood together, talking in their waistcoats, jackets quickly discarded as soon as was appropriate. Their voices were low but enthusiastic, talking over their cigarettes about enlistment stations, weight requirements, uniforms…

The servants' hall was empty, save for Bates, who sat reading at his usual place at the table, his back to the china cabinet, his jacket and cane occupying the chair to his left. His collar and tie was uncharacteristically loosened, his excuse being it was likewise an unusually warm evening. It was as far as he felt he could go to keep cool and remain professional; he refused to roll up the sleeves of his shirt or loosen the buttons of his waistcoat. With his jacket off he could hear the faint ticking of his pocket watch.

A newspaper lay askew in the center of the table. Since Thomas' departure, the paper had been silently passed around or left for a later servant with a bit of a free time to pick up, rather than be read aloud to everyone else. No one complained about this change in routine if it meant there would be more peace and less unpleasantness, two things everyone in Downton was wanting badly.

Familiar, soft footsteps caused Bates to glance up from his reading. He gave a soft smile to Anna as she entered the servants' hall and sat to his right, sliding the newspaper towards her. Anna was weary from the day's activities and the late summer humidity had drained her. She gave a small smile in return as she propped her elbows on the table and began to read the headlines.

Anna had not intended to finish the mending early today; it was almost a custom by now to find herself sewing next to Bates as he read. Before she knew it, her feet had led her to the servants' hall. She was relieved to have found the paper to occupy herself with. She scanned the front page nonchalantly, slowly becoming absorbed by the headlines. Her eyebrows furrowed. Combat, troops, alliances, trenches…She had just read the headline "TURKS ENTER WAR TO AID GERMANY" when she heaved a sigh. Turks and war…both subjects made her uneasy. She dropped her arms and paper to the table, defeated.

Anna had been trying to keep thoughts about the war out of her head for nearly a month. She was beginning to realize this war wasn't going to go away any time soon…Austria-Hungary declared war on Serbia, The Russian Empire mobilized against Germany, Germany declared war on Russia. The United Kingdom declared war on Germany…

Anna imagined a chain of mousetraps snapping in rapid succession. A reaction had started somewhere on the continent, spreading, branching its way to Downton on its way around the world. She felt swallowed up and wholly under its control. Her situation regarding the quiet man sitting next to her was already complicated enough: now was the possibility that he like so many other men would be uprooted to aid in the cause however they could. Anna's throat hardened and her stomach began to knot.

Bates glanced over and then back to his book, yet he hadn't resumed reading. He was sure Anna was about to speak.

Anna had a sharp intake of breath and finally said, "I don't know how we're going to get through all this…" her head shook as she said it, her eyes staring forward. She let out a violent sigh as she cast her head down, her lips forming a thin line. Anna herself wasn't entirely sure whether she was referring to her country in the grip of war or the two of them. Anna was usually so sure, so optimistic. War changes a lot of things, she realized.

Bates was silent. He laid his book on the table and looked at the ceiling, sensing the layers within Anna's words. Wasn't he himself a master of secondary meanings, riddles and double entendres? Bates felt a pang of guilt that she, who was usually so refreshingly direct, had to once again voice her concerns through a veil. She had done it before when supposedly speaking of Lady Edith's unrequited love for Patrick Crawley and he could tell it tore her apart. Bates released a small sigh and with a gentle tug at the corners of his mouth he laid his right hand on top of her left.

Anna's lips parted as she turned towards him, unable to form words. His hand was refreshingly cool considering the humid evening. His thumb stroked the side of her hand.

"Well," he said, turning his head to look into her eyes, "We take it one day at a time." He gave slight reassuring nods to punctuate his words, hoping he could give Anna some of the comfort she was always bestowing upon him.

Her eyes softened. A small smile crept upon her mouth. What she eventually hoped for ––Bates' freedom from his estranged wife, his secrets, his duty to the war effort—seemed impossible for now. Up until a second ago she felt totally and completely at a loss. What she failed to realize was so simple. She was with him today, now, her hand enveloped by his. That in itself was a miracle, and it was comforting enough to calm her nerves and have her ready to face tomorrow.

Mrs Hughes glided into the servants' hall, stopping suddenly at the doorframe as her eyes met Anna and Bates. Quickly, Anna slid her hand onto the newspaper and Bates leaned back into his chair, crossing his arms. Mrs Hughes continued to stare incredulously, hands at her side, as Anna pushed her chair back and stood up, rounding the table.

"Goodnight, Mrs Hughes…" she said, uncharacteristically avoiding the housekeeper's eyes.

"Goodnight, Anna," Mrs Hughes responded, pivoting towards the housemaid as she passed through the door and on her way to the maids' bedrooms. When Anna was finally out of sight, Mrs Hughes turned back to face Bates, who remained, leaning back in his chair, staring at the place where Anna had had left his sight mere seconds before, his eyes glittering strangely.

"Mr Bates," Mrs Hughes started. Bates' eyes flicked to hers. "The rest have gone up, if you'll lock up when you're ready…"

"Certainly, Mrs Hughes," Bates said, turning to retrieve his cane and standing up. Mrs Hughes made to leave, then stopped.

"Mr Bates, if I may have a word…" Mrs Hughes stalled, for a second unsure of whether to press the matter. "…about Anna," Bates stiffened. She took a few steps towards the table, realizing there was no easy way to start a conversation like this, then continued:

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" She asked, as if pleading for him to have some sense. Bates' jaw tightened. Mrs Hughes pressed on, her voice softening. "War… seems to change a lot of people's minds about proper protocol, but I suggest, for your and Anna's sake, that you release her, before it develops any further..." She didn't mean to sound so harsh. She hoped Bates would understand that she wanted them both to be spared the anguish of what was to come, should they continue to try to explore their feelings. The sad truth was, she didn't quite know the half of it.

Bates looked down. She hadn't realized that he already _tried_, so many times, to release Anna. He had tried to be as plain as possible that he wasn't any of what she really needed, that no matter what his affections and wishes might be, he was fettered by chains forged from his past actions, 'made link by link and yard by yard' as the saying goes, ever as weighed down as Marley's Ghost and even more so, seeing that he was still alive and already so cognizant of the weight of the strong coil he was bearing.

He had tried to cast her and his feelings for her aside, but neither would budge. They were always there, somehow, sweetly fighting whatever treatment he prescribed, building immunity to his reserve. The two servants were always together at dinner, on the walks to and from church, on coinciding half-days, during any free time at all.

Bates joked to himself that Anna was as much a part of him now as his bad leg. He chuckled inwardly, and then the realization hit him. Anna had become something of an affliction, if ever there was a good, kind, and beautiful one. It made his answer to Mrs Hughes so simple.

"If you had suggested this before a year ago I would have agreed with you, truly…" He looked up at Mrs Hughes, gathering his book and jacket and folded the latter over the crook of his arm, "But, as it happens, a year ago someone made me promise to never again try to cure myself." With that, Bates bid goodnight, leaving Hughes with his curious double entendre.


End file.
